


Wrong Genre Savvy

by 0Rocky41_7



Series: I Guess This is Happening: Theodora Hawke [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2020, Past Anders/Hawke (Dragon Age), Past Relationship(s), Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), past Hawke/Orsino
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22947886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Rocky41_7/pseuds/0Rocky41_7
Summary: Hawke tries to convince Cassandra that kissing her is a bad idea.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Cassandra Pentaghast, Hawke/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: I Guess This is Happening: Theodora Hawke [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2111598
Kudos: 11





	Wrong Genre Savvy

The moon hung fat and yellow in the sky, casting down a tinted light on the encampment, which was either charmingly rural or vaguely sinister, depending on one’s interpretation. On the edge of the clearing, Hawke sat on guard, knives at her fingertips, forearms propped against her knees. The dim light deepened the creases and cuts in her leather armor and cast shadows on her face, replicating the ones in her heart, and, she hoped, hiding the vulnerability that ached in her breast like an open wound.

Beside her was a companion—someone who _ought_ to have been sleeping, but had chosen to keep the Champion of Kirkwall company on guard instead. Hawke was not surprised—she had not been able to leave well enough alone with the Seeker after Varric had made such a jest of Seeker Pentaghast’s crush on her. Now, the consequences of her careless flirting and insistent contact with the Seeker were making themselves apparent, and Hawke was bleeding already.

“Here’s the thing. I…look, no matter what I want, I’m not good material for this kind of thing. You can ask—well, actually, your two best candidates for testifying to that are both dead, which should tell you a lot.”

“They’re not dead because of you.” How could the seeker have so much faith in her? It was baffling, but from the corners of her eyes, she could catch the amber gleam of the seeker’s appreciative gaze. Like the blaze of a roaring fire, Hawke sought warmth in her vicinity, but could not bring herself to look directly at her, for fear of the brightness.

“Aren’t they?” A smile pulled cruelly at Hawke’s face, bitter and aggrieved and full of so many other things she could not bring herself to tell other people. “I know what Varric wrote about me and the first enchanter in that book of his. He wrote it how I would’ve written it. But it wasn’t all true.”

“It wasn’t?”

How could she explain? It wasn’t like she and Orsino had _courted_ , it wasn’t even an option for them. Quick fucks and sneaking around was all they ever had. Hawke never had the _chance_ for more, but if she had—would she have taken it? For a long time, she had feared to answer the question, but now she realized that in and of itself was an answer. Did it even matter anymore? He was two years dead, and she had other things on her mind.

“Come on, did you think Varric would tell nothing but the truth? Or that I’d be totally honest about what happened? It’s true, we were sleeping together. We met during the Qunari invasion and it was—well, we were on the same page about the fucking. Which is all I wanted. Until that wasn’t enough. We never had the chance for anything else. O would never leave the Circle, never abandon his mages, and run away, the way my father did. I knew that—it’s one of the things I respected about him. He was so devoted to them. The bit about the harvester…” Hawke picked at the grass, ripping up tiny blades with anxious fingers. A breeze blew over her exposed wound and she turned her face from the seeker, trying to hide it. Was it really so much harder to be cavalier late at night? “That was true too. I tried to stop him, but that pot had been simmering for years before I met him; not even I could put a lid back on that. He just…went manic; Meredith backed him into a corner and he finally broke. And the part about me killing him…that was true too. Just like I killed Bethany: because I had no choice.”

“You did the right thing.” Cassandra hesitated before she spoke, but her words still rang hollow. It always did, when someone said those words to Hawke. She might have convinced other people, but it seemed she’d never quite manage to convince herself. Then again, what did she expect the seeker to say? What could anyone say, about a thing like that?

“I always tried, but everything seemed to go to hell anyway. But that’s not the point. The point is, I’m shit at romance. I could’ve been more honest with O when he was alive, but I wasn’t, because I was afraid, and I couldn’t save him either. I just…hell. You’re a force of nature, seeker. I like the hell out of you. But I don’t want to hurt you, or disappoint you, and I think that’s all that’s left in me. Varric told me what a fan you are of the book…and of me. It’s tough finding out somebody you had on a pedestal isn’t what you thought they were. Sorry about that.”

There it was. There was nothing left of Theodora Maria Hawke but disappointment. The Champion of Kirkwall was supposed to be able to swoop in and save the day, to achieve miracles—by the rumors that flowed through Kirkwall, she ought to be able to single-handedly strike down Corypheus, end the war between the mages and the templars, and bring about a new world peace. No wonder Cassandra had wanted her for the Inquisition. The truth was a much bitterer medicine: Hawke was a failure. Explaining this to the seeker hurt more than Hawke had imagined it could, as if she had been parading about as a fraud and now had to own up to the truth—and to someone who had admired her lies.

It wouldn’t do Cassandra any good to love a lie.

“You’re not a disappointment! Maybe Varric made you out a bit _nobler_ in the book, but you still _did_ all those things, and you tried to save Kirkwall, and now you’re here helping the Inquisition even after everything you’ve been through—I’m not disappointed at all.” If they had spent less time together, Hawke would have brushed this sentiment off as the girlish admiration of a fan. Too many people who read _Tale of the Champion_ thought they _knew_ Hawke and her friends. Cassandra had barely been able to speak coherent sentences to her when they met. She’d wanted her autograph for the mangled copy of it that Varric claimed she’d weaponized against him. But Hawke had spent several weeks traveling with the Inquisition now—surely long enough for Cassandra to see beyond the blinding sheen of Varric’s image of Hawke.

“You’re making me _blush_ , seeker.” She wasn’t. “But tortured heroes don’t make for good partners.” That was true whatever Varric and Isabela claimed. Hawke would know—her brief dalliance with Anders had taught her as much.

“I think there’s a great subset of romantic novels that says otherwise.” No wonder the seeker enjoyed Varric’s books.

“Maybe, but this isn’t _Swords and Shields_.”

“You’ve read it?” Hawke had meant to ask if Cassandra had been a fan of Varric’s writing before kidnapping him, or if _Tale of the Champion_ had led her to his other work. Either one provided more than enough amusement.

“I read everything Varric writes! Not only because I think it embarrasses him a little that I’ve read it. It was entertaining, I can see the appeal, even if it is overwrought.” It was the quality of writing that embarrassed Varric more than the idea that his best friend had read his smutty writing—they were too open with each other for that to cause much of a problem—but with some willing suspension of disbelief, Hawke could understand why the serial still sold. It wasn’t exactly to her tastes, but it was her duty to consume everything that Varric produced.

“Overwrought! It’s _passionate_!”

“Like you, huh?” Hawke turned to look at the Seeker for the first time, flashing a toothy grin. Fire bloomed in the breast of Seeker Pentaghast like it smoldered in the throat of a dragon—there was no taming and certainly no quelling it.

“I—don’t know about that.” Cassandra flicked her eyes away, habitually rejecting such a personal comment, but not with any great force, as though she did not want to entirely dissuade Hawke from offering them.

“I do. I’ve seen it. I’ve got no problem imagining you standing before a dragon with just a sword and shield, like all those old, dead Pentaghasts. If I was good at this, I’d go fetch you a fresh pair of dragon horns before I even dared to bring up the vision of your loveliness.” It was too dark to know, but she hoped she’d managed to make the seeker blush.

“Didn’t you kill a high dragon in Kirkwall?” Naturally, she skipped over Hawke’s compliments entirely.

“I did, but I gave the parts over to O and the Circle for their alchemy.” And how proudly she had presented them! Champion of Kirkwall, slayer of dragons, Messere Hawke, offering a kingly gift to her illicit lover as proof of her courage and skill! How much leverage had she and the first enchanter gotten out of her dragon-slaying in bed after that?

“Still. You slew a _dragon_. That’s…”

“Romantic?” Again, Hawke did not look directly at the seeker, but cast a sly glance in her direction from the corners of her eyes.

“--!” There were no words, but merely an affronted noise, an offended intake of breath.

“Varric told me what you said about me killing the Arishok.” The seeker should have guessed that Hawke and Varric told each other _everything_. The only story Hawke had never heard was the one about Bianca, and even that she had a rough outline of, from Varric’s comments over the years.

“That little--!” There went the fire, and Varric would be lucky that the seeker didn’t drag him out of his tent to throttle him right that minute.

“He also told me you’re only inclined towards the coarser sex. Which seems terribly unfair, with how much I’d like to kiss you right now, but, in this particular case, may work out best for you in the long run.” Sharply, Hawke turned their conversation back towards its origin. She had told herself she was going to be honest with Cassandra, and she meant to be. If Cassandra would just say that her crush was platonic, that Varric had told the truth and she only sought men for partners, then Hawke could brush it all off and move on. Go back to nursing her many other wounds.

“Perhaps I’d…make an exception for you. If you’d stop talking and get to it.” Bah, too much to hope for. An exception! Five years ago, Hawke would have clicked her heels in glee. The seeker would make an exception for her! But now it felt like Cassandra had only given Hawke another chance to let her down.

“Well, I am exceedingly charming. But seeker, I do mean it, I’d be terrible for you. A real shitshow, I promise. I’m just a disaster. Ask Varric.” As such a fan of _Tale of the Champion_ , the seeker ought to know how hopeless Hawke was. It was unfair of her to set Cassandra up for disappointment, which was all that lay in store for her by pursuing Hawke (or allowing Hawke to pursue her).

“You don’t have to keep calling me ‘seeker’.” The seeker was leaning closer to her, and Hawke made the mistake of turning to look. The breath caught in her chest when she met Cassandra’s eyes and she couldn’t stop herself from drinking in the view, her gaze caressing the seeker’s dark brow, her sturdy jaw, her all-too-available lips. Why couldn’t she be more detestable? If she was simply a rotten person, it wouldn’t have mattered how beautiful she was.

“You prefer Lady Pentaghast?” Again, that lopsided grin, the one she gave to remind the world she didn’t give a fuck.

“No!” Varric had a point about getting the seeker’s goat—her reactions made it far too rewarding. Hawke wanted to tease her until Cassandra tackled her into the dirt just to shut her up.

“Okay, not Lady Pentaghast, then. Your wish is my command, Cassandra.” Turning to look at the Seeker from beneath her eyelashes, face tilted slightly down, inviting her to give some commands, was not in the slightest conducive to Hawke convincing Cassandra that she was trouble, but it happened anyway. Maker’s breath, she really was hopeless.

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s…suggestive!” For a moment, Cassandra fumbled for the proper word, and did not seem entirely satisfied with the one she settled on. Now, it was _possible_ Hawke had made the seeker’s name a bit breathier than it needed to be, or spoken it lower than her typical register—or maybe it was all a fancy of the Seeker’s mind.

“It only sounds that way because you’re so used to me calling you by your title! Like if you started calling me _Theodora_.” There was no one alive who called her that anymore, not even Uncle Gamlen. Once in a while, because she’d told him that dumb story about her childhood, Orsino had called her _Adora_ , but she didn’t want to tell the seeker about that now. She had yet to address her as anything but _C_ _hampion,_ despite Hawke frequently reminding the Inquisition she preferred to just be _Hawke_.

“Do you _want_ me to call you that?”

“Hawke’s fine.” Theodora belonged to another time, but maybe someday she would entrust Cassandra with that person, with that name. Or—no, she wouldn’t, because she was telling Cassandra why it was a bad idea to get involved with her. Which meant Theodora would be forever more something only for Hawke (certainly none of her friends called her that).

“You’re still talking too much, Hawke.” The seeker pushed her with her eyes, reminding Hawke of the too-bold things she had said. And _Varric_ was the one who talked too much—Hawke talked the perfect amount for someone in her situation.

“I thought we decided it was a bad idea for me to kiss you because I’m shit at relationships. Also, cursed.” That much was obvious just by looking at the trail of devastation in her wake—Lothering, her brother, her sister, her mother, Clan Sabrae, Anders, Kirkwall, the Cicle of Magi, Orsino…Obviously the Maker wanted her to live a life of peaceful solitude somewhere no one else could ever make contact with her again.

“ _You_ had decided that. I am not convinced.” The seeker was closer again, so that Hawke could almost feel her breath on her face. She hadn’t mentioned yet, how striking Cassandra’s scars were. The long one accentuated her artfully sculpted cheekbones, and the little one by her eye was like a beauty spot—but much more bad-ass and appealing than any of Hawke’s beauty spots (although, given the choice, she would still let the seeker count them).

“If I give you one terrible kiss will you be wholly disappointed in me and move on?” It was her last chance to make a bad impression without simply waiting for Cassandra to come to her own unfortunate conclusions about Hawke and her suitability as a mate.

“I won’t know until you have done it.” Oh, she was really playing hardball. Hawke had been playfully flirting with her for weeks, but she had never seen the seeker push back so intently. If Hawke had thought Cassandra was misguided, or playing games about being interested, she was having her doubt dispelled. Ha—maybe Varric had been _wrong_.

“Here goes nothing then.” Her brain was screaming at her to stop, but Hawke was good at turning off the little common sense she possessed. Cassandra was so near Hawke only had to lean over to press her mouth to the seeker’s, and it was remarkably easy to convince herself this was just part of the game, part of telling Cassandra she really needed to let go of Hawke. The air in the clearing was not cold, but Cassandra’s lips were warmer still, and for the first few seconds, her kiss was soft, even tentative. Then her lips parted slightly, purposefully or accidentally, but Hawke managed to resist the pull for more—there was only so much she could play off. It wasn’t fair of her, to take more than her share. When she drew back, Cassandra had the stars in her eyes, and Hawke could have wept with frustration. It was so simple, and so impossible, to pull Cassandra into her arms and cradle her a few hours, and whisper sweet things to her, until she was relieved of watch by First Enchanter Vivienne. “Feeling suitably disappointed?” The bitterness kept itself to a very low undercurrent in Hawke’s voice, for which she was grateful.

“Not nearly.” Cassandra’s exposed throat was pale in the moonlight, and Hawke thought of how she had laughed when Cole misconstrued one of Varric’s jokes and plied him with questions about it. She had those starry eyes fixed on Hawke, and the Champion’s mouth felt dry, and she wondered why the Maker couldn’t leave her alone.

“Rats. Should I try again?” Her fingers twitched, drawn to Cassandra’s face like magnets, but she held them back, fisting her hand against her thigh, telling herself it would all be over in the morning, just part of the game, just part of the act.

“Yes.” For all her bashfulness before, Cassandra left no doubt in her voice, and looked expectantly at Hawke. Who was she to disappoint a Pentaghast? Some ragtag remnant of the Amell family? No, she had asked Cassandra to command her, and now she had, so she obeyed. This time, the shyness was gone, and Cassandra leaned into the kiss with just an edge of that dragon fire Hawke had come to expect from her. It was Cassandra who leaned forward and put a hand on Hawke’s knee, tilting her head to better deepen her kiss with Hawke.

“I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of this,” Hawke breathed when they parted, lips tingling, face burning. She was starting to feel like one of those conquered Pentaghast dragons.

“I think you’re doing wonderfully,” Cassandra replied.

“Yeah, exactly. That really wasn’t what I intended when—” Cassandra decided, most likely, that Hawke was again yammering, and silenced her with another kiss.

“You don’t have to explain to me why I should stay away from you,” she said. “Tell me to go, and I will. If that is what you want, I will of course do it. But if you are afraid there is something about you that would drive me away, I wish you would let me decide for myself.” Hawke blinked, in slight awe over the seeker’s steel, not just on the battlefield, but in her personal life as well. The woman could have been a chevalier! Or wait—were chevaliers more or less impressive than the Seekers of Truth? Maybe a seeker was exactly what Cassandra was meant to be.

“You, uh…you make a fair point, seeker. I, um…I just…don’t want to disappoint you.” Hawke’s wound was open and gaping, bleeding all across her chest, and there was no way to hide it. Hawke’s difficulty with vulnerability had only worsened with each passing year and each new loss. If she was being more honest, she was _terrified_ of disappointing Cassandra, and as it was a virtual inevitability, it seemed cleanest to head things off early. Maybe the Champion’s steel had weakened over the years.

“What makes you think I won’t be the one to disappoint you?” Maker’s breath—how was it that Cassandra, who had been dewy-eyed over Hawke since before they met, was approaching this with a clearer mind than Hawke herself?

“Alright, alright…you’re right, I surrender.” Hawke threw her hands up. “To no one’s great surprise.” The façade done away with, Hawke reached up a hand and traced her fingers, light and slow, over the scar on Cassandra’s cheek. She had yet to hear the story of it, but she wanted to hear it. “You are a one-of-kind warrior, Seeker Pentaghast,” she said, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Defeating the Champion of Kirkwall is no small task, or so I hear. I’ll have to confirm with Varric.”

“You can’t tell him any of this,” the seeker said at once.

“Why? Because it means he was right about you having a crush?” Hawke’s grin was stretched out full then, teeth flashing in the moonlight.

“There you go, talking again!” Cassandra huffed, shaking Hawke’s hand off. Hawke threw back her head in a laugh, leaning back against her hands.

“Gonna have to get used to that, seeker, unless you mean to keep shutting me up the same way. Which, to be honest, isn’t much of a deterrent.”

“Ugh!” Hawke laughed again, quieter, and glanced back towards camp.

“You should get some rest, Cassandra. We’ll be on the road again tomorrow, and you’re supposed to take third watch.”

“I know.” Reluctantly, Cassandra rose to her feet, perhaps galled by the use of her given name. She looked down at Hawke, hesitant again. “Goodnight, Hawke.”

“Sleep well, seeker,” said Hawke breezily, tilting her head back to look up at the fearsome warrior before her. “Sweet dreams. May your fantasy of me be as good as the real thing.”

“Ugh! I can see why you and Varric get along so well!” Her stomping back to her tent was interrupted by a glance back, which showed her Hawke watching her go. Hawke waved and Cassandra hastily ducked into her tent.

“Well. Another flawless plan, seamlessly executed,” Hawke said to herself with a sigh. Varric was going to love this one.

**Author's Note:**

> Hawke underwent a lot of trauma in Kirkwall and during the Blight, and is still recovering from that. She's also got a massive guilt complex, perceives Leandra as blaming her for Carver and Bethany's deaths, and considers herself responsible for Anders' actions as well as the collapse of Kirkwall. Two years has given her some time to try to pick through these things, but she obviously needs more.
> 
> The thing with Orsino may have come out of the left field if you haven't seen my other fics about it but basically middle-aged elves are my jam I guess.
> 
> [On tumblr](https://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/611263706067812352/fandom-dragon-age-inquisition-pairing-cassandra) | [On Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/1123538)
> 
> If you liked this, you might like [ the other side of terror](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651686) by superflouskeys!


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